


The Wrecks of Matter and the Crush of Worlds

by Mithen



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set well before the events of the show;  Servalan makes her way through the ranks with her own inimitable style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrecks of Matter and the Crush of Worlds

The party was boring, there was no denying it. Servalan sipped her mediocre wine and suppressed a shudder of ennui. She couldn't even remember what was being commemorated at the moment. She scanned the crowd of functionaries, all dressed in somber dress uniforms, and took a couple of steps forward merely to hear the sound of her train of rhinestones clicking on the floor a bit. She had been able to tell she was tired of the endless round of social engagements when she had just grabbed something satiny and white to wear rather than really working on making an impression. What did it matter? No one here had any influence anyway.

Just as she was preparing to make some excuse and get away from the whole dreary evening, there was a sudden stir in the crowd and a new person strode into the party, trailed by what appeared to be a small group of admirers. Servalan's eyebrows rose almost involuntarily at her first glimpse of the celebrated Captain Travis, just back from the rebel uprising on Panzar 5. Of course she had seen images of the young hero, who had shot to prominence after single handedly saving an entire battalion and turning the tide of the Battle of Abentuer, but the pictures had failed to capture the force of personality etched in every line of the face and body. Dressed in a drab field uniform, boots dusty and cracked, the young captain stood out from the crowd like a blood red ruby in a drawer of glass trinkets.

Servalan continued to make idle talk with the bureaucrat next to her, but remained aware of the newcomer's presence. Eventually the bureaucrat was politely edged aside and she found herself looking into a very self assured pair of hazel eyes, framed by unruly curls of dark hair. The entourage of admirers was nowhere to be found. "I was hoping to have the chance to meet the redoubtable Servalan." The eyes traveled the length of her dress. "It's pleasant to see a swan amongst the crows here."

Servalan smiled blandly back. "I see you also have no use for standard dress."

A lopsided grin. "Ah, those petty conventions are not meant for such as us."

Servalan felt a shiver of -fear? Excitement? -run through her. She looked down at her wine glass to cover her reaction, murmuring, "I don't know what you mean."

Blunt, capable fingers gripped her chin gently and raised her head. The captain looked her in the eye and smiled at her. "Oh, but I think you do." For a fleeting moment, a thumb brushed across her lower lip. Then her chin was released and, with a formal bow, the captain turned and strode back to the waiting crowd of admirers. Servalan watched the retreating figure, noting half against her will the caged power of the walk, the way high boots hugged trim thighs. Oh, she would keep an eye on this one, indeed.

Captain Travis.

Captain Kiera Travis.

****

"Federation forces have launched a major new offensive aimed at crushing resistance at Durnhelm, the infamous rebel stronghold of Panzar 5, this week. According to General Alanda, once Durnhelm is pacified, the rebel grip on the planet should be broken "

Kiera half heartedly hurled one of her boots at the tiny televisor on the wall and sank onto the bed with a sigh. "Why do you listen to this bull anyway, Kitten?"

Servalan grimaced without looking up from the work on her desk, jammed into a corner of the small apartment. That nickname was a reminder of why she didn't generally allow her first name to be known. Kiera had thought "Kitanthalasia" had been a lovely- if unwieldy -name, and had promptly shortened it. Although she would have died rather than admit it to anyone, Servalan rather liked the nickname. Kiera never used it in public, of course, or appeared to be anything more than a good colleague. The only person who knew for certain their relationship was something more was Kiera's twin brother, Darmid Travis. Darmid was like Kiera's image in a bronze mirror -sullen and introverted where his sister was charismatic, a follower where she was a leader. The only two redeeming qualities Servalan could find in the boy were that he adored and idolized his sister, and that he seemed able to keep his mouth shut. Kiera told her she had no secrets from Darmid and Servalan had been reluctantly forced to accept that. Sometimes she couldn't help shuddering at the terrible risk she and Kiera were taking -she hadn't had a lover since she left the relative safety of school- but she was unable to deny the strength of her attraction and desire for the other woman.

Kiera continued to grumble at the newscast. "'Operations are going well,' my arse! Oh, we'll get this Panz mess under control, but there's always some new flare up, and the troops are demoralized- it's no glorious struggle there, let me tell you! There in the mud and the trenches..." She stopped, eyeing Servalan's furrowed brow, and got up from the bed to stand behind her and rub her shoulders. "Has work still got you down? Is that Shoun still being a prick about the launch date?"

Servalan sighed and allowed herself to relax into the gentle pressure of those capable hands. "Oh, he agrees that next month is probably too early to have all the technical details of the project ironed out, but he insists on setting an actual date for the inaugural ceremonies. I keep telling him I'd rather wait until we know the project will actually work- the p.r. ramifications of setting a date and not making it are terrible! But he's being pressured from higher up to get some concrete results."

Kiera's deft fingers rose slightly higher, brushing through the short hair on the back of her neck and making Servalan shiver. Looking over Servalan's shoulders at her display, she said musingly, "Does working on this project ever...trouble you? I mean, does it seem a little..." her voice trailed off.

"Oh, I know what you mean. Of course it bothers me, having to work with Shoun and not getting promoted as quickly as I'd like. But working on a top secret project like this will have long term benefits for my career, I'm sure. If it goes well, of course. And I have no intentions of it going otherwise!" She twisted her head to grin at Kiera, who gazed deeply, almost solemnly, into her eyes, before breaking into a returning smile. Then Kiera walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, drawing her shirt over her head with one fluid motion and sprawling lazily across the coverlet, her arms raised above her head and a smirk on her face.

"Kitten, I suggest you put your paperwork aside for a bit, get your cute little butt over here, and relax a while!"

Servalan got her cute little butt over there.

*****

The report was vastly encouraging. The doctors assigned to her project assured Servalan that they had managed a major breakthrough in the process and it should be perfected in a week or so. This was excellent news. Servalan felt some of the tension leave her shoulders and she sighed, missing Kiera's touch, but her lover had been posted back to Panzar 5 for the time being. Well, perhaps it was safer that way.

One more meeting for the day and she could go home. The vague message- just a request for a meeting, really -from one of her old school friends had puzzled and intrigued her. She and Anna did not see each other often now. Their relationship, if it had ever really been one, hadn't worked out, and it didn't seem worth it to be seen together too often. However, her job gave her access to some uniquely useful information, and now and then she shared some with Servalan. In return for similar favors, of course.

A tap at the door heralded the arrival of the Federation interrogator, who then stood, looking stiff and uncomfortable, until Servalan pointed her to a chair. She cleared her throat before she began.

"I was questioning a prisoner, a man with known ties to the rebels. He was especially interested in your current project and seemed to know a great deal about it. Eventually he was induced to tell us that the rebellion has an agent inside the Federation who had been specifically assigned to learn more about your project. Before he died, he gave us a name." Anna paused. Later, Servalan would remember that just for a moment, a look of gloating satisfaction had crossed the other woman's face before it became a mask of sympathy again. Then she said the name.

She said the name, and the world shifted, tilted and skidded like a landslide. Eventually it came to a halt in a whole new place. Servalan closed her eyes. Then she opened them and thanked Anna for the information. And dismissed her.

*****

"...I certainly can understand your point," the bland man in the bland room said. "To have it found out that such a hero, such a role model, is actually a traitor well! It would be bad for morale. Bad for morale indeed."

"So you can help arrange things?"

The man frowned. Servalan smiled winsomely and tilted her head to the side. "I would be so very indebted to you," she purred.

He paused, flushed a bit, shuffled some papers self importantly. "Well, well, for troop morale, I guess it would be possible to release a statement that the captain had been killed in action. You're sure evidence to the contrary won't be cropping up?"

Servalan smiled like broken glass. Her mouth hurt. "It's all taken care of."

"Well, I suppose...very well then." The man behind the desk peered at her. "You look very tired. Perhaps a cup of coffee...or maybe a drink...?"

"That would be so kind of you, Mr. Keller."

"Please...call me Don."

*****

Servalan stands on the balcony of the operating theater. She looks down onto the floor. A woman is below her, strapped onto an operating table. Her huge hazel eyes stare straight ahead, unfocused, her pupils dilated, as the doctors prepare their utensils. The surgeons had rejected the idea of performing the procedure without drugs -the patient would struggle and might interrupt the procedure.

Servalan stands on the balcony and grips the handrail. Darmid Travis stands beside her. He knows what happens to the families of traitors. She knows what happens to sexual inverts. They will both keep quiet. It's a compromise. Now they are bound together more closely than family, more closely than lovers. She will have to find a use for him.

Servalan watches as the doctors start the procedure. Her lips move slightly.

Servalan is composing the speech for the inauguration of her project.

_Today is the dawning of a new age of hope for those suffering from terminal illness. Now, women who are victims of diseases with no cure have a new option, a way to defeat their disease._

The patient's head is shaved. Black curls fall lightly to the floor, fall through a grate and vanish.

_These women volunteers all can undergo an operation that destroys their disease in exchange for their service for the Federation Army. But this is more than a cure for a disease. Far more._

A delicate little saw exposes the patient's brain. Certain changes are made with sophisticated, glittering equipment. It is around this time that Darmid Travis leaves the room. Weak.

_After this process, these women will never age, never die. Saved forever at the height of their beauty, they will live on untouched by the ravages of time, long after we have become dust._

A long incision is made, starting between the breasts. Certain organs are removed and replaced with devices that pump greenish fluid.

_They have not only conquered death with their sacrifice, they have conquered time itself. With them, truly the words of the Old Calendar poet have become a reality:_

"The stars shall fade away, the sun himself  
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink with years;  
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,  
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,  
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds."

The operation is done. The doctors check the readings on their equipment. It is a success. Their first success. They smile up at Servalan, tired and happy. Servalan takes her hands from the railing she has been holding. There are eight small half moon marks in her palms, a dull pain that she can ignore. She smiles back at her team, waves a hand in a salute. This will look good on her resume.


End file.
